We'll Pick Back Up On Another Page
by Trill the Mass Murderer
Summary: Just a random moment in Caligasto Loboto's insane asylum life. My own idea on what could've happened to him.


Yeah just a random moment in Cali's insane life, explaining what could've happened in my little mind. Okay, I was just bored, please do me a favor and don't criticize me, I'm not in the mood.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Psychonauts. Well, in this story I own Dr. Richardson, but I don't care if someone, for some reason, has the aspiration to use it. I really don't.

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"I'm not that incompetent." Caligasto Loboto told his therapist. He ran his fingers through his long black hair and pursed his full light lips. He gave a sarcastic look at Dr. Richardson who was eager to hear more. Caligasto was a twenty-something year old kid who was proclaimed insane after a mental breakdown, sticking him in an insane asylum. He was pale and extremely thin, with dark brown eyes and a pretty face. He was a little beyond anyone's judgment on anything to do with him. Caligasto raised an eyebrow waiting for his therapist to break the silence, which he did.

"I didn't say you were." Dr. Richardson told him behind square glasses. His therapist was a young guy, about thirty with short hair and professional clothes. "Why would you think I'd think that?"

Caligasto thought about the weirdly worded question for a moment before continuing. "I dunno." He paused. "But I'm not, watch." He inhaled, his back erect, and stuck his hand in front of his stomach. "Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do." He sung beautifully, bringing the hand gestures along with every syllable. "Do, Ti, La, So, Fa, Mi, Re, Do." He smiled at his accomplishment. He liked attention he'd get from his talent, even if that is what drove him insane.

Dr. Richardson smiled. "Yes, I understand your singing is quite impressive." He told him. He sighed. "Do you realize it's the singing that's keeping you here?" He asked, his smile fading.

Caligasto narrowed his big brown eyes. He honestly didn't believe that. "Well, I don't think it's my singing…But I like the attention…" It was true, he did. Even if it was the attention after a concert that brought him down. But hell, it was frightening. All those people staring at him, the chance to win a huge prize from just his voice and his friend's music. "I like people telling me I'm good at something."

Dr. Richardson raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth. "Caligasto, I don't understand you." He said flat out. "Your parents seemed perfect, your school life seemed perfect, you had the chance to be in a famous band, and yet, you're still mentally unstable. Crying all the time, low self-esteem…"

Caligasto nodded. "You forgot the self-discipline." Here, he held out his arm showing a mess of several scars and cuts on his wrist.

Dr. Richardson sighed. "Why are you so depressed?"

"Maybe, I'm just bad shit insane?" He suggested shrugging. He smiled innocently.

The therapist wrote something down. "Could you tell me, again, in great detail, what happened the night of your concert?" He asked, with a hopeful face.

Caligasto didn't want to think about that stupid concert, but hey, maybe some sympathy might erupt from the guy. He licked his lips and nodded. "Well, I was nervous backstage. I could hear my friends yelling 'Cali, get the fucking makeup on' because we were wearing stage make up. Then finally, I do that, very unprofessionally because I'm shaking more than I ever had in my life. So, they call us onto the stage and my friends get to their instruments and I stand in front of the mike. We're only supposed to play on song, and we did." He sighed. "During which, I sounded so fucking horrible. My voice kept cracking because I was quivering so much; I missed like, ten notes and sung them all wrong. My eyes started watering because I know I screwed it up for us." He bit his lip before continuing. "As so as we finish, I run off stage before anyone can see me crying. Our tech crew kept saying I blew it and that I sucked." He snickered. "I was enough to drive anyone insane." He looked around, symbolizing his insanity. "For some reason, I blamed myself as well, and thought I needed to be punished. I don't remember much after that. I remember a lot of blood and tears." He sighed. "Yeah, I don't even remember going to the hospital."

Dr. Richardson nodded. "And that concert was right after you got your degree to become a dentist?" He asked, assuring his notes.

Caligasto nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's going to happen now." He snickered.

Dr. Richardson shrugged. "You never know."

Caligasto knew his therapist was just being nice. He was never going to become a dentist after this breakdown. What would he put on the application? "COLLAGE DEGREE, RELIABLE, INSANE." Five fucking years of collage for nothing. He didn't even care anymore. Dentist or rock star or insane asylum patient, he didn't care about trying in life.

Especially not after his suicide attempt.

He sighed. "I don't care." He looked up at the clock. "Our times up anyway, you have a patient waiting." He smiled and stood up.

Dr. Richardson sighed, looking at the clock. He looked at Caligasto. "Alright, but don't think I'm done with you, we still have tomorrow."

Caligasto smiled and walked out the door. Two guards waited there, they took Caligasto's arms and walked him to his room, letting him continue on his insane asylum life.

--

Do me a favor, and don't ask. I don't really know either.


End file.
